


Call My Name

by KassieProphet



Series: Ghost Prompts [59]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Honorific Kink, POV Female Character, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: Tumblr Prompt:Papa Copia fucking a girl and getting really excited when she calls him Papa for the first time.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader, Papa Emeritus IV/Reader
Series: Ghost Prompts [59]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536134
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	Call My Name

It only makes sense that you'd use his new title.

Copia is no longer The Cardinal…he's _Papa_. 

He’s snaked his way into the founding branch of the church and climbed to the top over the bodies of Nihil and his progeny.

It's not just an honorary title…it's an honorific. 

It was _earned_.

Copia's made an attempt at humility in his new role, but…the _vestments_. Robes like those don’t get made overnight. You don’t just stumble onto them in a shop in Mexico City like, "Oh me, oh my! Wouldn't these blue robes with the Satanic embroidery go so well with my coup?"

No—they were commissioned with full expectation of ascension.

And, as close to the vest ~~ ments ~~ as he plays it, the position of Papa _means_ something to Copia. It’s not just something to tack on after his name: Copia, PPS. Especially when Copia comes back hungry for a release—or perhaps a climax?—of all his realized desires.

And you're more than happy to help.

You’re in Copia's quarters, and he’s _very_ happy to see you. He crowds into you, and you let yourself be backed into his bedchambers. He pauses only to hang up his new robes—taking great care with them—but you tell him to keep his hat on. (If as official head of the Satanic Church you can’t wear your snazzy new mitre whenever the fuck you want, when _can_ you wear it?)

He makes quick work of your habit, and he gives you a coy look through his lashes—but you’re not fooled by his apparent demureness; you’ve been Copia’s paramour for long enough to know that while he can absolutely be awkward as fuck 75% of the time—there’s that 25% percent that's shrewd and calculating.

(You’re sure he’d fuck you in his full set of vestments if he thought Imperator wouldn't notice the expense of having them…erm…cleaned.)

Your prelude to coupling is a desperate, sloppy business. Sure: most of the time Copia at least _attempts_ to stave off his excitement—and he never fails to engage his tongue for as long as you can stand it—but tonight is different.

Tonight is warm skin on skin…it’s accidental teeth and a mashing of sweet spots into wherever feels good. Your lips are both slick with spit, and your own skin burns deliciously from the scrape of his mustache. The two of you are rolling around on the bed as he expresses passion with the fervor of his touches, and you respond in kind. Every touch, every caress, and every stroke has you lighting up in pleasure so that you don’t even realize that Copia’s fucking you until he’s _fucking you_.

And it’s ecstasy.

His hips work in between your legs like he’s trying to burn off all that pasta he ate while on tour, and his cock slides in and out of you like your cunt is the only quenching oasis in a desert that goes on for miles.

Your limbs are a tangle, and you don’t know where yours stop and his begin until you find yourself on your back with your ankles resting on his shoulders. 

He fucks into you slowly as he growls out little nothings.

“You like my cock, eh? You want it to fuck you, yes?”

And, _Lucifer_. It’s not the first time you thought that you’d die happy if only it was at the end of Copia’s fat cock (letting it fill you— _stretch_ you—until you spill over) and that you’d jubilantly meet Satan bowlegged with no shame if it was because Copia fucked you into the void.

So, you twist your hands into a pillow, arch your back, and answer the man of the hour.

“ _Oh yes, Papa_.”

(Total. Sense.)

Copia stutters slightly, then pauses.

Your eyes fly open because: _wtf? y r u stopping??_

You’re met with Copia’s dangerous gaze—like he’s a bull that you just flashed the color red in front of (and you swear he does, in fact, snort steam out of his nose), and it’s all you register before he’s falling onto his arms and boxing you in, his thrusts now slow and teasing.

“What did you say, _cara_?”

“ _Pa_ - _pa_ …” you breathe into his ear, and his hips give a sharp jolt into you.

His nose rubs against yours.

“Ah! Couldn’t hear you. Once more, okie dokie?”

“ **Papa**!” you cry out as you wiggle your hips impatiently.

Copia groans as he starts pounding into you once more, and you yell out:

“Oh _yes_ …yes, _Papa_!”

He grunts and starts rolling his hips into you.

“Whose cock fucks you?”

“Yours, Papa!”

His mouth finds yours, and his tongue is a new puppy you struggle to keep up with. His hips press into you, and your clit tingles and pulses with every mash of his curls into your spread legs.

Copia breaks his suction on your mouth to pant at you, “And to whom do you belong?”

“ _You_ , Papa. Only my Papa.”

His eyes roll back into his head, and he lets out a long, low grunt as he starts to really rail into you. You try to wrap your legs around his waist, but his pace only jostles your hooked ankles open again and again.

“ _Say it_!” he hisses. “Say who I am!”

“Papa! Oh my Papa!”

Copia lets out a stuttering, juttering noise as he tries to ram his cock far enough into you that comes out your mouth. He does this multiple times as you moan into his ear before he finally collapses onto you in a sweaty, panting mess. 

He’s still twitching into you and letting out little breathy moans as you run your fingers through his hair and murmur little comforts into his ear.

“Yes, Papa. My good Papa. Papa dicks me down so well.”

Even after he finally goes still, he takes a moment to catch his breath before he’s hoisting himself up onto his arms.

“That was the good shit, eh?” He’s giving you a soporific smile, but his eyes are sharp as ever.

He pulls his soft cock out of you—and _tsks_ to himself when he sees his flattened mitre—but he doesn’t flop down beside you to cuddle like you expect him to. Instead, he kisses his way down your body until he’s between your legs, and you vibrate with anticipation.

“You sing my name so wonderfully, _cara_ …I am thinking it would be a shame if you cease now.”

And then he’s tongue’s on your clit, and you know you’re in for a long night.


End file.
